


roll with it

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are the one thing in his entire shitty universe that he adores with no irony at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	roll with it

**Author's Note:**

> homesmut prompt:
> 
>  _I see a lot of fluffy Bro/Dave or kind of guilty but still enthusiastic Bro/Dave. But it seems to me like Dave looks up to Bro like a father figure, even though Bro is seems pretty damn neglectful._
> 
>  _I'd like to see Bro taking advantage of Dave's obvious reverence for him and using Dave for sex. Dave goes along with it, and it's a weird turn on, but basically it makes him feel uncomfortable and confused. Bonus for Bro being totally casual about it, like feeling him up or slapping his ass in the kitchen or something._

Some days there's a moment of clarity where you know you're the sickest piece of work ever to ninja your way out of a visit from child protective services. Most days, though? You don't let that kind of shit get to you.

The kid worships the ground you walk on, right? You are the one thing in his entire shitty universe that he adores with no irony at all. You might even call this an object lesson in how trusting people too much gets a guy fucked.

You've always been kind of touchy, kind of up in his space in that ironic big-brother's-gotta-push-buttons kind of way. It was pretty easy to take it to the next level. Sure, he froze up the first time, eyebrows shooting up till you could see them over the tops of the hand-me-down shades he wears religiously. You didn't stop, though, and he did what you've taught him a cool kid should always do: he rolled with it.

It's kind of a game by now, like freaking him out with the way Cal turns up everywhere, like leaving a stash of smuppets any place he's likely to go looking for something totally unrelated. You've got to keep up that air of mystery, right? So you don't let it fall into too much of a pattern, at least not for long. Like a totally sweet DJ (which you are) kicking out an unbelievably ill mix (which you do), you set up his expectations so you can flip-scratch-cut-sample-restart them.

For a while there you do the classic thing and follow him into the shower. He's skinny, all limbs and ribs and collarbone, and he tries not to make any noises when you get him soaped up and push him against the tile, but you can see the way his fingers flex against it, knuckles white like he's trying to get a grip on the smooth, slick surface. He's tighter and hotter than anyone else you've ever had. You don't tell him so (how lame would you have to be to use a line like that?) but you always give him a reacharound, and he always goes off in your hand like a pyro on the Fourth of July.

He never sees you coming (so to speak) but he starts looking for you to show up, so you drop that habit like last year's best friend. Gotta keep it fresh, gotta keep on top of this ride. One night you find him in the kitchen reheating some takeout and stick your hands down his pants, distract him until long after the microwave's had its way with his dinner. Sometimes, not always, it's how you finish up a sparring match: losing the swords for something a little more close-quarters. Every once in a while you get back from spinning at a party so late that it's almost time for him to get up for school, and hey, nothing better to wake him up and cap off your night, both at once.

You never hear a word of complaint out of him, but he never quite gets over that one missed beat, that split second before he manages to match up to your rhythm and roll with it, whatever you've got in mind. Maybe he's trying to figure out the irony here.

For the next week, you don't touch him. Just to see what happens.

What happens is that he gets tense, then downright jumpy, then really quiet and confused. Like he thinks he must have let you down somehow. Once, well hidden, you see him standing outside the door to your room, fidgeting like he wants to knock and knows how desperately uncool that would be. If it were anybody else making him act this way, you'd be disappointed in him. But you made him what he is, right?

That night when he's sitting on the couch, playing a game and trying to act like he doesn't miss you (it's in the set of his shoulders, he'll never be able to out-poker-face you), you flash-step over and take a seat yourself. He fumbles an easy trick but doesn't look up from the screen. Good. You watch the TV but you're unzipping, too, making a show out of adjusting yourself. His hands go limp on the controller and his skater coasts to a halt.

You ease your cock out of your boxers, let him see you're hard, cock your head in his direction and raise one eyebrow over the rim of your shades. He swallows hard, once, and then the controller's on the floor and he's sprawled across the couch, head in your lap, mouth open, wet. Probably thinks you're giving him a chance to make up for whatever caused the dry spell in the first place. Kid needs you to like him so bad.

You let him.


End file.
